


Catch Me If I Fall

by vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disabled Newt, Established Relationship, Five Stages of Grief, Loving Percival Graves, M/M, Serious Injuries, Theseus cannot cope very well with things, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: An accident leaves Newt severely disabled. He needs round the clock care and Percival does not want to just stash him in a care home. So he takes Newt home and does the best he can to make his husband comfortable in a familiar environment.





	Catch Me If I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the amazing kallistob, any further mistakes are completely my own.  
> Characters sadly do not belong to me.
> 
> Just to clarify Percival is NOT the one who is abusive in this story.

The problem with real tragedies is that they do not come heralded by bad weather, premonitions or even a bad feeling. They are dropped on people out of the blue with no warnings, no time to prepare for the onslaught of consequences beyond the initial shock. When Percival’s meeting is interrupted by a wild eyed Tina he feels a mild pang of irritation and contempt for her. She should know better than interrupt high level meetings. Except then the words that still his world fall from her lips.

“It’s Newt.”

Without a word Percival is out of his seat, striding through the doors and barking orders to be shown where Newt is. Percival is made to wait, the doctors still busy trying to save Newt. It gives him a moment to think, to remember that morning when Newt left before him because he was going to join the small team tackling the smugglers. The soft kiss and low chuckle, the promise of more to come that evening. Percival sighed and settled in to wait, his promise of more will have to come later than planned. Tina sat next to him, worried.

“It was bad,” she begins. “He got hit not just with spells but someone threw a girder at him. He’s going to need more than magic to pull through. Nothing short of a miracle.”

Unfortunately Percival doesn’t believe in miracles. However he believes in the strong capabilities of the doctors and healers rushing around. He believes that soon he’ll be sitting next to Newt on the bed, holding his hand and quietly chewing him out for being so reckless once again. He’s half right in his assumption.

A doctor comes out, looking haggard and he allows Percival into the room. Newt is laid out on the bed, pale and still. Spells spark around him.

“It was close. We lost him twice.” The doctor doesn’t mince his words. Instead he looks at Newt with sad eyes. “We don’t know when he’ll wake up, if he’ll wake up. And if he does how much of him will still be in there.”

Percival tries to ignore the ominous words. Instead he focuses on Newt and settles on the chair next to the bed. He takes a cold hand in his and begins his vigil. The doctor hasn’t left yet though, he looks at Percival with pitying eyes.

“While we could repair the broken bones in his body, we couldn’t do anything for the nerves. Though there’s no way of telling the exact extent of his injuries just yet, he will likely never walk again. If you’d like, I can give you a list of reputable care homes who will take him in so you don’t have to worry.”

“Get out.” Percival growls. “How dare you suggest something so crass? Newt is injured, not an invalid. He’ll be fine. He’s strong.”

The doctor shakes his head and leaves. Percival turns to the bed and strokes Newt’s hand. It feels so cold and unresponsive in his that Percival wants to let go and run. But he doesn’t. He has to be there when Newt woke up, like the times Newt had been there for him when their places had been swapped.

That night he goes home to an empty house. The doctors had reassured him they’d send for him if Newt showed any signs of coming round. Technically they’d said if he shows any change but there was no way the change wasn’t going to be him opening his eyes. Percival slides between cold bed sheets and drops off to sleep.

There was no change the next day, nor the one after. The doctors start talking about moving him to another ward. One where similar patients lie while loved ones visit less and less with lower and lower the hopes of seeing their eyes open again. Percival refuses to believe that Newt would end up there indefinitely. He knows Newt, knows how vibrant and full of life the other man is. Something as simple as a girder to the back accompanied by a few spells isn’t enough to fell him.

Each night though Percival returns home to their house alone and each morning he leaves without a morning kiss or a shared moment over the crossword puzzle in the day’s paper. Every lunch time and for a few hours after work Percival makes his way to the hospital. He’s taken over the care of Newt’s case to the best of his abilities but even the creatures know that something isn’t right. It’s almost with desperation Percival clings to the notion that Newt will wake up any day.

When Newt does open his eyes Percival isn’t notified immediately. Instead when he goes for his evening visit the doctor greets him by the door and pulls him into a quiet office.

“Before you go in today,” the man begins, voice too soft, too gentle, “you need to be aware of a few things. Newt has come round.” Percival smiles and goes to push himself out of the chair, eager to lovingly chastise his careless husband. “However, his injuries are extensive. He suffered cardiac arrest twice remember, which deprived his brain of oxygen. The man in the bed is no longer the Newt you knew. I know you didn’t want him to go into a care home, but there’s no shame in it. Especially not in a case like this.”

“A case like this?” Percival repeats cautiously. The doctor nods at him slowly.

“You have to understand. Newt suffered injuries very few people survive. He can’t move, it’s a small mercy he can breathe for himself. He can’t speak, we think he can hear and he can probably see. We don’t know how much of him is trapped in his body and how much is gone. I don’t think we’ll ever know. You may wish to notify any other kin he has.”

“He’ll be fine. He’ll bounce back.” Percival bites out. Flames of anger fuelled by his fear make him stand up tall from his chair. Newt will be fine. Newt will be fine. His mind keeps repeating that as he leaves the room and goes straight to Newt. He’s on his back, eyes wandering along the ceiling, mouth slightly open.

“Newt,” Percival calls but he gets no response. He walks up to the side of the bed, takes a still cold hand in his warm ones and stares pleadingly at Newt. Newt’s eyes skitter over to him, seemingly rest on his face for a moment before drifting back to the ceiling.

“For fuck’s sake Newt. Don’t play games with me. You scared me.” Percival all but whispers the last bit. Newt doesn’t reply. “Just look at me Newt. Damn it. Look at me!”

Percival drops into the chair with a growl. It’s a noise Newt had heard him make very few times before and it always got his attention. It meant that Percival was truly fed up with his idiocy and it was time Newt pay attention to him. Except this time Newt doesn’t even glance his way. Percival almost misses the flinches from the first few times he’d growled at Newt.  At first it had broken his heart, how Newt’s eyes had widened and he stepped away, but now Percival just wished to see Newt react in any way.

However all he gets to do is sit next to Newt and hold his cold hand in his while Newt stares at the ceiling in a daze. After a few hours Percival’s frustration gets the better of him. He’d sat and waited for Newt to come back to him. At the very least Newt could offer him the courtesy of acknowledging him. In almost sneering disgust Percival sharply places Newt’s now slightly warmer hand back onto the covers. He doesn’t throw it but it’s a close call. Because he can’t help himself Percival glances back from the door in the hope of catching Newt’s cheeky smile from a prank well executed. All he gets instead are more wandering eyes and what he thinks might be a tear rolling down from the corner of his eye. Percival almost goes back in but a nurse bustles by him.

“Time for his evening bath and mobility exercises. I think you might want to leave for this.” she instructs and closes the door on him before he can even reply. Dismayed Percival heads home and resolves to message Theseus. Things don’t magically change over the course of the next few days. People visit Newt and there’s an almost steady stream of visitors. Most don’t return after the first visit and those that do Percival can see their building despair and sadness. He’s not there when Queenie visits but the rumours are that she flees with tears in her eyes and she avoids not just talking about Newt but also Percival himself. It makes anger flare sharp and bright in Percival’s chest, the way people suddenly start to treat him either as though he were about to break or a leper. Even worse is the soft, pitying glances he is thrown by people all around him.

He visits Newt every day and every day a little bit more hope leeches out of him along with the colour from Newt’s cheeks. The younger man used to be vibrant, tanned from his work in his case while Percival was the severe, pale one from too much office work. Slowly they swapped places though, Percival’s skin getting darker in the sun as he worked in the case while Newt fades as he languishes in a hospital bed. Each evening Percival takes Newt’s hand in his, it is still cool to the touch as Newt struggles to maintain his body temperature.

“You know you can stop pretending any time now.” Percival grumbles. Newt lies in bed, eyes still scanning the ceiling like they have for the last week. “I said enough.” There’s a slight hysteria to Percival’s voice. “You’re making me so angry. This isn’t what we agreed Newt. You’re being selfish.”

He closes his eyes against the burn of angry tears. So far all Newt has done is lie there, watch the ceiling and occasionally gurgle. The first time Percival had heard him his heart leapt into his throat and he all but threw himself at Newt, begging him to come back to him. Except the nurses reassured him that it was something Newt just did every now and then. It isn’t in response to any stimulus or reaction to anything in particular. It doesn’t stop Percival from visiting him, talking to him.

The stark reality of the situation slowly settles over him like a cold blanket. He’d argued with the nurses, tried to find better care, a magic cure to bring Newt back to him. There was nothing. At his lowest he’d all but screamed at Newt. It was to no avail.

“I know you’re still in there Newt. Buried away but I know you. You’re better than this,” Percival whispers against cool fingers. “Come back to me. Please. Just let me know you can hear me.”

Newt let out a louder huff of breath and Percival stills. Cold anger crawls up his spine like a snake winding its way round his vertebrae, choking his feelings.

“Fight harder, goddamnit!” he growls. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t leave me but get left behind at the same time.” Newt remained as silent as before.

Theseus arrives as soon as he can, pale and shaking at the news of his brother. It’s late at night when he gets there, too late to see Newt and perhaps it was for the better. Percival greets him and offers him a room at their – his really now, Newt won’t have much use for it – place. In the morning they descend into the case together, Theseus keen to keep Newt’s lifelong work alive. There’s a strained silence between them and no matter what Percival does it doesn’t seem to become any lighter. They’re in the shed, cleaning up and he feels like he should at least try to prepare Theseus for the reality of the situation.

“When we go to see him, you should be prepared.” Theseus casts him a curious glance but says nothing. “What I mean is. It’s not easy. To see him like that. He doesn’t respond to anything. He’s there but not.”

Something in Theseus snaps and he steps closer to Percival. “You should have taken better care of him.”

Percival backs away in surprise.

“Why weren’t you there to save him? Why put him through all of this? WHY?” the last part he all but roars.

“I tried.” Percival whispers, the tears he’d been holding in threatening to pour down his cheeks.

“I wasn’t there though. I know I should have been but it was a safe case. I thought he was going to be okay.”

“When he married you, you promised to look after him. It was in your vows.” It’s a low blow and Percival feels his world crumble. No matter how desperately he clings to the edges they disintegrate, leaving him to clutch at thin air and wisps of hope that wafts away between his fingers. He doesn’t see Theseus almost immediately regret his words. Doesn’t even hear the pained apology. Percival in that moment is gone. The world slowly filters back to him in snatches of sound and colour. Theseus is standing off to the side looking hangdog. They have nothing to say to each other until they get to Newt’s hospital door from then. Just before they walk through Percival lays a hand on Theseus’ shoulder and gives him a quick squeeze.

The scene in the room is no different than any of the previous days Percival had been. However Theseus rushes forward with the optimism Percival had lost in such a short period of time. He watches as the older brother clings to what has all too quickly become familiarly cool hands while Newt ignores them. The array of emotions across Theseus’ face is staggering. The happiness at seeing his brother alive melts into anger when he’s ignored. When his mere presence doesn’t trigger the miraculous recovery, his face twists into a betrayed scowl. Percival had been there. The conviction that it was merely a familiar voice or face that was needed to help guide Newt back to them. That he had only been waiting for someone he loved to come back to as the care of the doctors wasn’t enough. Percival watches the realisation hit that Theseus’ presence wasn’t enough. The hurt, the betrayal and the anger. No matter how much Theseus pleads there is no blink of recognition in Newt. Abruptly he gets up from the bed, places Newt’s hand back and stands at the foot of the bed. Tears barely held back as he looks away.

“I can’t do this,” he bites out. Eyes settle on the view from the window, distant and sunny, so painfully similar to how Newt used to be. “That’s not my brother anymore.”

“It’s still Newt.” Percival doesn’t know what else to say.

“No. That’s not Newt. Don’t tell me that. Newt’s gone. Gone. Where’s the man who used to call his freckles ‘sparkles’? Where’s the man who would stop to pet every stray creature? Where’s Newt in - in - _ that _ ?” Theseus spits and gestures violently towards the bed. “No. My brother is dead. I can take his case to someone who will look after all his creatures but don’t tell me that it’s my brother in that bed. That’s just a mockery, a broken puppet and a poor soulless imitation of what he used to be.”

Percival closes his eyes. The case had been taking up a large chunk of his time and left him exhausted and worried. But it is such a huge part of Newt he doesn’t know how he could let it go. It would be admitting defeat and accepting that Newt wasn’t coming back. The war of heart against brain consumes him. No case would mean he could spend more time with Newt, more time not worrying at work. But could he really find it in himself to send such a large part of who Newt was away? It was his brain that won out in the argument. Slowly, he nodded.

“I’ll let you take the case with you when you leave.”

“I’m leaving tonight. There’s nothing here for me. I’ll arrange for a care home to take over the care.”

Percival’s eyes snap to Theseus. “You can’t do that to him. Theseus. He’s your brother.”

“My brother is dead.” Theseus said through gritted teeth and tear filled eyes. “This is the most I can do.”

“At least talk about him like a human!”

Newt burbled in the background, breaking the tension.

“This is the most I can do Percival. Don’t make this any harder for me. I will sort a for a care home. It will be the best one, I promise.” His voice is soft in a way it hadn’t been before, almost pleading for Percival to understand.

“I don’t want him to go into a home. I’ll look after him in our own home. Surely that’s better.”

“I’m his brother, so I get to make decisions.”

“And I’m his husband. He chose me, trusted me to make the best decisions for him.”

“Look where it got him. I’m leaving tonight. Do what you will. That’s not my brother anymore.”

Theseus walks out of the room without a glance over his shoulder. At a loss for what to do Percival settles into the chair and strokes his fingers lightly up Newt’s freckled arms.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m still here, I still love you. I know you can come back to me Newt. I believe in you. And when you’re back I’ll get your case back too. But please understand I can’t look after you, do my job and take care of your creatures. I’m only human.”

It is with a heavy heart he makes his way out the door to begin his day at work. In the afternoon Theseus comes to take the case from him. They do one final round where Percival says his goodbyes to the creatures he’s come to love as his own. It is with teary eyes that he clambers one final time out of the battered case. Once more he clicks the locks closed with a finality that leaves him breathless. It’s almost like he’s locking his heart in there and it’s going to be spirited away only to leave behind a husk of who he once was with Newt by his side. Theseus doesn’t say much, his mouth is pressed into a thin, pale line. His departure, signalled by the thud of the closing door and Percival is left in the oppressively empty house once again.

The time comes when Newt is ready to be moved. Percival arranges two weeks of leave for himself to help settle Newt back into their home. There’s been no change in the time since Theseus had all but abandoned them. The morning Newt is to be discharged into his care Percival anxiously makes his way to the hospital. He doesn’t know what to expect. Certainly not a kind nurse who comes into the room with a friendly smile and no hint of pity.

“I heard you’re taking Newt home today.” He smiles brightly at Percival. “We’ve just got a few things to go through before you can whisk him away.”

“I’ve filled out all the paperwork.” Percival replies bluntly. He’s so tired suddenly, even though the morning has just started.

“Yes I know. But a few practical things to run through like feeding and cleaning. Unless you already know what you’re doing?”

Percival looks down at the ground and shakes his head. He hadn’t thought about any of that. He just wanted his husband home, no matter the state he was in.

“Okay, no worries. If we just pop into one of the training rooms down the corridor I can show you all the spells and what not.”

Reluctantly Percival follows the other man who cheerily leads him out. They end up in a small room with dummies for practice and Percival swallows, the enormity of what he’s about to embark on hits home.

“So, just to check, do you know any evacuation spells?”

“Evacuation?” Percival startles and stares bewildered.

“Well, you can do it manually but I could show you just the spell to make it so much quicker and kinder for everyone concerned.”

Half an hour later Percival emerges from the room with new knowledge he never thought he’d ever even have to think about. Facts about bed sores, susceptibility to respiratory illnesses and best ways to deal with choking swim around in his mind in a cacophony. Half dazed, he is lead back to Newt’s room where an orderly is just finishing transferring Newt into a chair. For his part Newt merrily gurgles and for a change lets out a monotone, almost nasal hum. It startles everyone but they cheer in response. The nurse who had taken Percival to the side to teach him what he now needs to know claps him on the shoulder.

“Now you be good, won’t you? Don’t give Percival here a hard time and eat your dinner like you do for us,” he says to Newt as Percival wheels him out of the room. They apparate home and Percival looks around. The sun is out so he pushes Newt out into the garden where the gentle heat of the sun might warm him a little. The blanket tucked around him slips and bit and Percival adjusts it and Newt hums tonelessly as he squints against the sun.

The two weeks Percival had taken off whip by. He learns the hard way about portioning food. The first time he spoons food for Newt, half of it falls onto his shirt and when a full spoonful finally gets in Newt chokes. The spells the nameless nurse had taught him suddenly make more sense as he battles against the rising panic of watching Newt struggle to breath. It was his auror training that kicked in at that point, calm in a crisis and dealing with the issue at hand. Once resolved, that’s when he lets himself fall apart. Percival fights back tears of frustration as he slams the pot and spoon onto the table. Newt gurgles at him, the terror of what occurred seemingly all but forgotten by him already.

“Please come back soon Newt.” Percival whispers. The following gurgle he takes as a response of affirmation and with steely resolve he picks up the pot and spoon again. Smaller mouthfuls, he reminds himself as he raises another spoonful up for Newt.

The hospital had warned that Newt will need round the clock care so Percival sets about finding care while he’s at work. He goes through a list of agencies and carers meticulously. He shortlists a few to interview and eventually settles on a man who looks eager, friendly and trustworthy. Despite all the advice and reiterations somehow the impact of round the clock care didn’t sink in for Percival. The first night he settled Newt in the spare bedroom and left the door to his bedroom open. Sleep doesn’t come easily to him, the guilt of not having newt next to him weighs heavy on his chest. Yet he knows deep down it’s for the best. Newt had grumbled enough after their nights together about his propensity to snuggle that Percival worries he might cuddle Newt and impede his breathing with something as simple as an arm thrown over his chest. So he keeps both doors open which goes against his usual night-time routine. That adds to his difficulty sleeping. What makes it worse is that Newt seems to have lost all sense and rhythm of time. As Percival drifts off to sleep Newt hums. It’s toneless and comes in short sharp bursts. Immediately Percival is clambering out of bed to check on Newt, making sure that he’s not too cold but not too warm. The warming spells hold true over him and Newt had just woken from a light slumber, nothing more.

The nights continue like that, Newt in his own room occasionally awake and gurgling, humming. After the third night Percival stops getting out of bed at every noise and by the fifth night he even stops waking up to Newt’s night-time noises. It’s not like it’s his presence that Newt demands. Part of Percival doubts Newt even notices he’s there half the time. It’s a few days before he is due back at work with the carer starting then too, arriving half an hour before Percival leaves for work and staying until he gets back. From now on Percival will have to keep an eye on sticking to his office hours. He had Newt to come back to now. Newt who relied completely on him now. It was a terrifying prospect which hadn’t sunk in until now. Somehow Percival had anticipated having a dependent in the future. But he’d always imagined it with Newt by his side and a little bundle wrapped in their arms which would grow into either a beautiful young lady or a handsome lad. It never crossed his mind that instead it would be Newt, bedridden and as helpless as the bundled he’d imagined them with.

Percival is woken from a dreamless sleep by the most terrifying sound. It’s a wail that sends an icy hailstorm of daggers down his spine and freezes his chest. A wounded animal howls. Except he recognises the voice. The monotonous shriek sounds too much like Newt – so similar to his hums but full of such despair. Percival is out of his bed, stumbling over bedcovers thrown to the ground in haste. He rushes to the other room. Newt is there, mouth contorted into a wide abyss as he shrieks.

“Newt. You’re okay. Sweetie, calm down, I’m here.” Percival rests a hand on either side of Newt’s tear streaked face. “Please honey, I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry you were lonely. Does something hurt? Did you have a bad dream?” he babbles helplessly while Newt continues to cry. Nothing he does quiets Newt. Nothing comforts him. The strokes through his hair seem to make his cries louder when before it had calmed him. The diagnostic spell Percival casts reveals nothing, no fever, no cramps, not even an underlying infection. The bed sores he’d spotted a few days back were all healing nicely. There was nothing he could find to cause Newt such visible distress. The only thing Percival could do is cast a silencing charm around them to keep the noise in and sit next to his husband and wait.

“You’re okay honey. You’re home. You’re safe. I’ll look after you. I promise. Like our vows. In sickness as well as in health. And I meant it.” Percival begged, his hand clutching Newt’s limp one, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on cool skin.

As quick as the howling had started it stops. Percival reaches for a soft, damp handkerchief to gently wipe away the tears, snot, and drool. Newt’s eyes close and he’s asleep before Percival can finish his careful ministration. That night he doesn’t go back to his own bedroom, instead he sits and watches Newt breathe softly through his mouth as he slumbers. After a few hours Newt wakes again but remains quiet before sleep claims him again. Throughout it all Percival keeps hold of his hand and never lets go, even to wipe his own cheek free of escaped tears.

The carer – whose name Percival had all but forgotten arrives on time which he appreciates. It’s too rude to ask his name again and Percival is sure he’ll hardly ever need to call the man anyway. They’ll have half an hour each morning where Percival will update him on Newt’s mood, condition and any special considerations. He’ll have set out Newt’s morning and afternoon snack pots along with his bigger lunch bowl the previous night. So it’s just a matter of checking in each morning before he leaves for work. In the afternoons he’ll hurry back, have a quick summary report of any issues before he takes over Newt’s care for the evening and night.

After that night of crying Percival doesn’t have the heart to leave Newt alone in the spare bedroom. He makes adjustments to their old shared room. The large bed he pushes against the wall and gets rid of one of the bedside tables – his own which he empties. He hasn’t had the heart yet to go through Newt’s things. The last book he was reading, the lube and condoms they’ll now probably never use. Instead he pulls out his own things, his book and glasses are slid carefully under his new bed which is no more than a narrow camp bed within arm’s reach of Newt. Each night when he switches off the light the last thing he sees is Newt who is either scanning the ceiling with flickering eyes or softly huffing away. Sometimes Percival wonders if he even dreams anymore.

Going back to work is a big adjustment all of a sudden. Percival finds his mind wandering to Newt far too often. Worrying about his wellbeing now that he is unable to speak for himself. On top of that people cast him wary glances, he’s suddenly become that person. The one people whisper about as he goes by, the one people either feel pity for or see him in cast in a glow of heroism. He’s the one with the husband who is dead yet alive. He’s the one who’s taken on care of his husband even though there will be no happy ending for them. Percival isn’t sure which side is worse. The ones who consider him a fool for taking on such a thankless task or the ones who romanticise his choices, love and dedication. There are whispers that follow him, some about the waste of such a powerful wizard who now, to all intents and purposes is single again if only he’d sign some papers while others mutter half-jokingly about how  Newt can no longer refuse any sick sexual fantasy he may cook up and that’s why he’s kept him at home. Percival doesn’t rise to any of the baits, to him it’s a straightforward choice. He and Newt swore to love and cherish each other until death. That’s all he was doing, fulfilling his promise to the one that he loves, no matter their state.

The letter which arrives from Theseus comes as a mild surprise. He’d never expected to hear from the man again. It’s a short and to the point letter but it helps ease something that had been wound tight in his chest.

 

Dear Percival,

My apologies  for my appalling behaviour the last time I saw you. It was inexcusable even under the circumstances. I hope you’ll eventually find it in yourself to forgive me. I wanted to let you know that the case has been safely taken in by a fellow magizoologist in Egypt, it is in safe hands.

Please find enclosed a cheque towards care costs. I hope you’ll reconsider the idea of using a care home but either way, use the money as you see fit.

Yours,

Theseus Scamander

P.S. You are a better man than me Percival. I wouldn’t be able to do what you are.

 

The fact that Newt’s name wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the letter, nor was he indirectly talked about didn’t escape Percival’s attention. However he understood that Theseus had to deal with his loss in any way he could, he wasn’t one to judge for that.

The evenings became darker and cooler as time passed. Life settled into somewhat of a pattern and Percival still slept on the camp bed next to what has become Newt’s bed. The date of their anniversary crept up on Percival and it was only on the day itself that he remembers. That lunchtime he leaves MACUSA and heads to the shops. When it’s time to head home he packs up his suitcase and takes the small bag he got along with him. The front door clicks open and he quietly puts his case down, hangs his coat and nods to John. The carer smiles back at him and after a quick reassurance that everything was fine during the day he takes his leave.

“Hello Newt.” Percival murmurs and bends down to kiss his husband on the forehead. Newt burbles at him. Over the course of the last few months he’s become so much more vocal. “Happy anniversary love. I got you a little something.”

Percival pulls the bag out, first he takes out a small bouquet of colourful flowers. He doesn’t know what the various flowers are but he know that Newt would have loved them – they were as colourful as the man used to be, vibrant and bordering on too bright with just a hint seriousness in the leaves. It looks like they briefly catch Newt’s attention as he arranges them in the jug next to the bed. It’s a hope that never left Percival. Every time Newt’s eyes alight on something for longer than a second he wants to think that Newt’s coming back to him, that he’s still in there and fighting to push through the prison of his own body. Then the moment is gone and Newt’s eyes go back to their directionless, focus-less meandering stare.

“I also got you something else. Your hands are always so cold so,” Percival pulls out a pair of fur lined mittens, “they’re enchanted to always keep your hands warm. I checked the fur is ethically sourced. I hope you like them.” He pulls the gloves onto Newt’s motionless hands with minimal difficulty. He’s gotten quite apt at dressing him, it only took about a week to figure out which clothes were easier to pull onto Newt and also kept him sufficiently warm.

Work is still a drag. The whispers have died down to bare minimum but Percival suspects they’ll never be truly silenced. He stops enjoying his work quite so much. Like most things in life if he really thinks of it. Since Newt’s accident he’s found himself sliding back into old patterns and bad habits. A heavy heart tells him it’s time to change. He talks things over with Seraphina and she agrees that perhaps it was time for a shake-up and for Percival to actually try to find something to enjoy in life. With little fanfare he begins to train up his successor and makes plans to become only a consultant to the department. He’s served his time, it was time to put family first.

Training up the next department head is quite straightforward. Fontaine will make a good leader, she was his deputy after all. It’s easy to let her take control and he even finds himself with an empty afternoon when she tells him she’s got the idea of how things will work. It’s still another week and a half until he officially retires and comes back as a part time consultant. Yet here he is with a quiet afternoon and no plans on what to do. So he heads home early.

The door clicks open and swings open on silent hinges. If the schedule he’d worked out for Newt at the beginning is being followed (and he rests safely in the knowledge that it is) then it should be about time for the afternoon snack pot. Today’s choice was grape jelly. Newt used to love grapes so Percival tries to get it for him as often as possible. He can hear John’s quiet voice, slightly strained in exasperation. Which meant Newt was having one of his days when he didn’t want to cooperate, keeping his mouth shut against the coaxing of the spoon as he hummed. Percival sets his case down quietly and has one shoe off when John’s tone changes.

“Just eat your fucking jelly.” It’s a harsh tone, not at all like the soft kindness Percival is used to hearing. Newt’s humming increases. “Open your goddamn mouth you stupid little shit.”

Something clatters as Percival, forgetting his other shoe hurries towards the kitchen.

“Now look what you’ve done you useless imbecile. I’m going to have to change you yet again.” John screams and there’s the sound of a sharp slap. Newt’s humming changes tone to sharp bursts of worried repetitive hums. If he could move Percival imagines he’d be rocking with it. He rounds the corner and surveys the scene. John is towering over Newt who has the sharp red outline of a handprint bright on his cheek. There’s grape jelly down his front and the spoon on the floor. Percival doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to think of the number of times this had happened and he feels sick. He’d trusted John to take care of Newt, he’d left Newt at home in the faith that he’d be well looked after, if not loved at least liked. Instead his husband is humming in distress as his alleged carer towers over him, hand raised. Percival rushes forward, his one shoe squeaking on the floor.

“What’s going on here?” he growls as he stands between John and Newt. The carer lowers his hand and tries to look innocent.

“He jerked his head and I dropped the spoon. But he jerked so hard he hit his cheek on the side of his chair really hard.” John explains. Percival stares at him with flat eyes.

“He jerked his head?”

“Yes.” John sounds so sure it almost throws Percival. Except-

“John. My husband is tetraplegic, he cannot jerk his head. He cannot do anything for himself except breathe. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Well yes. Can he tell you what happened?” John looks so brazen in his lie, Percival’s ire flares into wild flames.

“Get out. Get out of my house. Get out of our life.” he roars and points at the door. John leaves with a sneering huff and once the door is shut firmly behind him he turns to Newt - who is still wild eyed and humming in short sharp bursts. Percival drops down to be eye level with Newt, his eyes for once a fixed straight ahead and his tongue pokes the inside of his red cheek. Percival is just grateful he hadn’t bitten his tongue.

“I’m so sorry sweetie.” He murmurs, Newt’s sudden stillness scaring him. It was a wonder at how quickly he got used to the constantly wandering eyes which never settled for longer than a few seconds on anything. “You’re okay, he won’t be coming back. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

As if something breaks in Newt he’s back to eyes scanning the room, hums and gurgles reverting to his new normal. Percival almost wants to laugh at the relief that floods through him at seeing Newt just snap back.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, eh trouble? You’ve made a bit of a mess by the looks of things.”

After the incident Percival stays up late, half the time watching Newt as he slept – slowly he’s improved and only woke maybe three or four times a night now. Percival doesn’t hold much hope but he dreams of a night they’ll both sleep through soundly. The other half of the night he spends researching spells. He’s got nobody to look after Newt now and he’s needed for his last stretch at work. Just because he’s got a family emergency he can’t abandon his job.

By the time the sun rises and it’s time to get Newt into his day clothes, prepare his breakfast and food for the day then get himself ready for work, Percival has a host of spells mastered and memorised. They’re all notification enchantments, scrying charms and warning spells. He gets Newt ready, sets up all the charms he’s learnt and fretfully leaves for work. However he’s distracted all day, the spells and charms he’s maintaining drain him and what little focus he has left next to them is lost to the constant worry for Newt. At lunchtime Fontaine sends him home with a wave of her hand. The next day Piquery informs him that he can leave earlier than agreed for his new post as she appreciates how difficult family can be. It’s a small mercy and he rushes home to Newt. Percival’s exhausted, both physically and emotionally. While life had taken on a grey hue before it now felt as though everything light had been sucked out.

The reality of his isolation in his struggle to keep Newt at home, happy and safe had worn him down. It was Friday evening which meant it was Newt’s bath time. During the week he could cast a few cleansing charms over Newt to keep him clean but once a week he needed a proper bath, his hair washed and just given a good once over for any sores which could appear at a moment’s notice. Percival struggled to keep the shampoo out of Newt’s eye while also keeping an eye on the water temperature. Since Newt couldn’t jerk away from too hot or too cold water and seemed to be less sensitive to temperatures before it fell to Percival to make sure the water was just right for him. The first time he’d tried he almost scalded Newt’s feet.

Now, it was almost as though he were a practiced professional. He could gently levitate Newt in the water, keep the water pleasantly warm and use both hands to gently wash his husband. Today though nothing seemed to go right. He missed the slip of suds as they trickled into Newt’s eye making him moan which only led to soap suds falling into his mouth. Percival did his best to wipe them away, gently clean his eye and help get rid of the taste from Newt’s mouth. But it all seemed so much. Dejectedly he slumped down next to the bathtub onto the floor. He let Newt float in the water gently, knowing the water will keep him warm.

In a moment of weakness he looked down at himself. Still in his suit pants, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow, suspenders slipping off his shoulders. He felt old, weary and so alone in that moment. Tears threatened to prick at his eyes and he rubbed damp hands against his face. He couldn’t afford to slump in that moment, he had to get Newt ready for bed, sort his own supper out and perhaps quickly clean the house a little. There was dust settling on his shelves – something he wouldn’t have even dreamt of as possible before. Before. When his life was still his, it wasn’t dictated by a feeding schedule. When he could sleep through the whole night in his own bed, with his own husband. When he didn’t have to worry about evacuation spells and weekly washes and water temperature and keeping the house just slightly too warm for his liking so Newt wouldn’t get cold. He drops his head on his arms.

“Why couldn’t you just die? It would have been so much easier for everyone.” He mutters to Newt, who gurgles back at him.

A loud splash draws him out of his misery. His head snaps up and he gasps “Newt” as he scrambles to his knees. In his moment of self-pity he had forgotten about keeping the levitation charm going for Newt. Now he knelt next to the bathtub as Newt stared up at him wide eyes as bubbles burst at the tops of the water. Percival scrabbles to pull Newt out, his head flops back as he’s lifted, coughing and gagging against all the water he’s inhaled.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I got lost in my head. I didn’t forget you Newt. I don’t want you dead.”

He clutches Newt to his chest, muttering the evacuation charm after evacuation charm and thinking of all the water in Newt’s lungs. It must work because the gagging stops.

“I’m sorry.” Percival mumbles again, Newt’s body feels chilled out of the water. He moves to put him back in the bathtub with extreme care when a new noise stills him. It’s a burbling laugh. Gently he lets Newt float back into the warm water and watches mesmerised as Newt seems to laugh again. It’s such a jarring noise compared to his own emotions that Percival doesn’t know what to do all of a sudden. When laughter bubbles up from Newt again, Percival chuckles.

“Is that so? Is that so mister?” Newt laughs again and it makes Percival think of what Theseus had said to him that night in the case. About a carefree boy who called his freckles sparkles. Fondly he ruffles Newt’s hair and runs a hand down Newt’s forehead from his hairline to along the bridge of his nose. It makes Newt pause before another burst of laughter tumbles out of him. Percival presses the tip of his nose with a finger again in a gentle bop. He may not have much left in his life but what he’s got, he’ll clutch at with both hands with the desperation of a lonely man. He looks at Newt with fond, sad eyes and sighs.

“Come on then. Shall we shine your sparkles?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on tumblr - @ladyoftheshrimp


End file.
